


sleep, pretty darling / do not cry

by dreadfulbeauties



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hair Brushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadfulbeauties/pseuds/dreadfulbeauties
Summary: In an irregular but "good" timeline, Homura and Madoka match up temporarily and the former takes some time to appreciate and ponder.
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	sleep, pretty darling / do not cry

If there is one thing Homura is terrified of, it is kindness.

More specifically: Madoka’s kindness. Even though that’s the reason she even goes on in the first place — her gentle smile, breeze rippling through her red-ribboned pink pigtails is still so sharp and clear in her mind even after so many times — Homura is always so hesitant to accept it. This is a “good” timeline: Where Homura tries to play the role of a friend for once to Mami, where her near-death experience at the hands of the Dessert Witch seemed to dash any ambitions either Madoka or Sayaka had of becoming magical girls, where Madoka feels the same way, she thinks, judging by how she rambles to Sayaka about how “cool” and “surprisingly nice” the new girl at school is. But even though Homura’s overjoyed there is still that nagging worry inside of her, because chances are that once Walpurgisnacht comes Madoka will be torn away from her again.

That’s why she questions what she’s doing here at the Kaname house. The words “sleepover” and “it’s supposed to be special” are tangled up with a jumbled mess of other sentences Homura can’t remember. Still, though, she’s decided to be brave and enjoy herself. She took the train from her house to Madoka’s, watching day roll into night. Sat with her at dinner and nearly choked on her cream stew when Madoka introduced her to her family as “my girlfriend Homura” (even though she should be used to it by now, they’ve been going on outings to the arcade and window-shopping for at least a few weeks). Sat wrapped up in a blanket watching some cheap horror flick. Eaten messily-decorated ice cream sundaes until her tongue’s gone numb and her fingers are sticky with melted fudge.

From the other side of the bathroom door she can hear Madoka spit out water frothy with toothpaste. “I’ll be done in a little bit! I just need to wash my face and undo my pigtails. Is there anything you need before then?”

“Ah, no thank you.”

She laughs, soft and lilting. “You’re a really patient sort, Homura! I hope I’m not pestering you or being an annoying hostess, though.”

“Why would you think that? You’ve been very…” she can feel her voice crack when she processes it again “… _nice_ to me this entire sleepover. I’ve had a great time.”

“Heh, it’s nothing serious. Just something I worry about from time to time. By the way, you can wait back in my room if it’s more comfortable for you, Homura!”

“Thank you. I’ll head back there now.” She begins the short walk down the hall, but—

“Wait, I forgot my hairbrush. Would you mind grabbing one for me to use, please?”

“Of course I can! I’ll make sure to find a clean one for you.”

“Thank you, Madoka.”

She makes her way back to Madoka’s room and sits on top of the bed surrounded by numerous stuffed animals. When she gets herself comfortable she half-expects to see a familiar pair of beady red eyes staring back at her as she gets comfortable, something trying to blend in as just another one of the oversized, squishy toys littering the pink-blanketed mattress. But it seems as though Kyuubey has other plans tonight, Homura notes. For just a little while, she is alone.

The door swings open and Madoka walks in, dressed in pale green pajamas. Her hair is undone from its usual high pigtails — now loose it comes to a little past her shoulders. She hops onto the bed, wincing as the mattress creaks a little at the impact.

“I hope I didn’t take too long.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t.”

She presents a dark red hairbrush to Homura. “Here! I made sure that this one was properly cleaned.”

“Thank you, Madoka.”

She smiles (as much as she can, as genuinely as she can) and takes the hairbrush. Gripping its handle lightly with her fingers she takes her time in running its teeth through her long dark hair. Start at the bottom and work your way up to the scalp, that’s what she was taught. It hurts a little if she tugs too hard or if the brush ends up snagging on a stray tangle or knot, something that happens very often since her hair is so long. As she methodically brushes her hair, Homura notices Madoka staring at her with a nervous little smile.

“…Can I?”

“Hmm?”

“Ah, it’s just —” She tugs a little at the shorts of her pajamas “—Homura, you just have such nice, soft-looking hair and I was hoping I could brush it.”

Homura sets the brush down. “Please do. I’d be happy if you did.”

Madoka is different. She doesn’t tug forcefully and jerk out filaments of hair when the brush encounters a snag. She works with gentle hands, the teeth of the hairbrush easing the knot undone. It’s caring, there’s an absence of harshness that Homura’s more accustomed to from herself—

_But what if this repeat is just like all the others, and she won’t get to hold Madoka’s hand in hers again?_

It’s not kindness itself that she’s so frightened of, Homura realizes, even though Madoka remaining so sweet to her is such a novelty. It’s _losing_ that kindness. So she tries to stay away, thinking that what Madoka extends to her wouldn’t hurt as much if she never accepted it to begin with. But that’s not why she’s fighting in the first place, is she?

“…Homura?”

Madoka peeks from where she sits behind her, a quizzical expression on her face. Gathering her composure, she responds with a quiet, “What is it?”

“You’re scrunching your face up as if you’re about to start crying. Is something the matter? You remembered to take your medication, right?” 

_How can I tell her? I don’t know how I could. I promised I would protect her and keep Kyuubey from tricking her… but that was a long time ago, and in a different time. I don’t know what I can tell her now._

So she lies.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I took my medication earlier.” _Even though I don’t need it to begin with._ “Everything’s alright.”

“Are you okay with me going on brushing your hair? Or do you want to go ahead yourself?”

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all. And yes, I’m alright with it.”

Madoka quickly slides back into the grooves of routine. Slowly but surely, she brushes through the snarls bunched up and twisted down around Homura’s back. Every now and then her hand brushes over freshly-brushed, smooth dark hair and she’ll say something like “Homura, your hair is so soft — it’s like silk!” Or “Your hair’s so pretty-looking”. It’s a brief respite from the too-high possibility of the future that looms before her, but a very welcome one.

“I like your hair, too,” Homura says. “It’s such a nice color. And you always pick such cute ribbons to tie your pigtails up in.”

“You think so? But mine’s not as long and elegant-looking as yours…”

“Trust me, you don’t want hair that’s super long. You get tangles _everywhere_. And you have to comb through them all the time.” She could easily use magic to style her hair rather than brush it manually, but it seems as though old habits die hard.

Madoka laughs, soft and chirpy, before she wraps her arms around Homura. The two flop onto the bed, knocking off an oversized anthropomorphic bunny that was already dangling precariously off the edge to begin with.

“Homura, you’re so cute,” she says, scooping away her bangs to leave a light kiss to her forehead. “But thank you. Thank you for everything.”

She’s already gotten her sleeping bag laid out, however, she’s perfectly happy to accept Madoka’s insistence that they squish up together in her bed between all her stuffed animals — they are girlfriends, after all, says Madoka, and what kind of girlfriend wouldn’t offer cuddles? Madoka falls asleep with her arms pulling Homura close, head propped up against between the curve of her shoulder and neck.

“Good night,” she says faintly before any coherent speech she has left dissolves into contented snoring.

It takes Homura a little while longer to fall asleep. But Madoka’s holding her so close and the steady beating of her heart is a comfort. But when she at last closes her eyes, she thinks to herself, _Thank you for everything, Madoka. I’ll make sure to save you and keep my promise this time — and if I fail, I’ll do whatever I can to try again._

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have much to say about this one? it just sort of popped into my head. consider it one of the many loops homura went through, i suppose.


End file.
